


The Hopeless that’s left when the Romantic Left

by postfrom1776



Series: The journey between Paris and London, a FrUk compilation [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Calais, FACES family, FrUK, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), M/M, Nationverse, Ontario makes an appearance too!, Québec, Romance, and Québec, arthur needs to tone down the tsundereness, because why not, its kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfrom1776/pseuds/postfrom1776
Summary: A rainy meeting, an overheard conversation, and a broken heart.Arthur made a mistake, and realize too late what had been laying right before his eyes.Francis had waited so long, but the hopeless romantic in him was now gone.Will Arthur be able to fix it?---------------------------------------------------------------------------Now complete!
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Series: The journey between Paris and London, a FrUk compilation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830940
Comments: 42
Kudos: 56





	1. Prologue

The voice of Francis Bonnefoy came to Marie’s ear from her cellphone. He sounded almost choked up, like she had never heard him before.

-“Québec, I know you're à la Délégation, and there is a world meeting today. Could you please go for me? I don’t think I can make it right now.”

His accent was thicker than usual on the other end of the line, but the Province could tell he hadn’t drank anything.

-“Ça va-tu? You sound…” she could finish before he interrupted her

-“Can you replace me, Oui ou Non?” He insisted

-“Oui, I will, and take care, ok?”

-“Merci” he breathed in the phone before hanging up.

Paris was going to be cloudy today, and thank god it was only September, had it been November, torrential pours would have been announced on the weather programs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you will like! I won’t leave you hanging with just the prologue though, the first chapter should already be up. Weekly updates if I am restrain myself from posting one chapter a day haha.
> 
> Ça va tu is the informal and technically grammatically incorrect way to ask are you ok in the Province of Québec. We have a tendency to ask question with the « tu » at the end. My source is living there since my birth, so yeah.


	2. Cloudy day

The World Meeting took place in Paris, and the weather of the beginnings of September was quite warm despite a grey cloud coverage. At least the warm climate made sure that it wasn’t raining all the time like in London, Arthur tought.

As he walked into the room, he was greeted by the usual group of Nations; America, Germany, Italy, Canada, Japan, many others and.. Where the hell was the bastard France?

On his chair was instead seated a short haired blonde girl with a thick curl going down on her forehead, aged around 18 or 19. Her blue eyes were looking down on a notebook and she wrote quickly on the pages. She was wearing a bright blue suit, who could have been mistaken for the kind of clothing France would wear, but instead of a pin of the French flag, a silver Fleur de Lys was pinned on the jacket collar.

Everyone else in the room seemed to have ignored her, except for Canada, sitting by her side and telling her about more details to add to the notes.

-“What in the bloody hell are you doing here Québec?” England exclaimed, bringing the other people’s attention to him and the young lady.

-“Ah, salut Angleterre” she replied, her accent bringing Arthur back to when Francis spoke this way, the old accent of the kings until Louis XIV. It was lost around the first French Revolution, when the accent of the people took over, but the change never crossed the sea to Québec.

_Ah, hello England ._

-“J’remplace France, he couldn’t make it and I was at la Délégation du Québec here in Paris, so he asked me to take notes for him.”

_I’m replacing France_

Filling in for France? In a meeting in his own capital city? That didn’t make any sense to Arthur, the Frenchman would always rather annoy him and flirt with him than to miss a meeting.

-“Why couldn’t he come?” He asked her, anger seeping in his voice, anger toward the Frenchman sending his old colony to take notes instead of coming.

-Eille, Les nerf England!”

_Hey, stay calm England!_

She added, picking up the same angry voice. She had inherited her temper from Arthur himself when she was conquered. The British nation took a breath and calmed down.

\- “I have no idea why he could not make it, but he didn’t seem all right when he called me, so despite being busy I accepted.” She continued as she saw he calmed down.

-“Alright then, you will be allowed to stay I suppose.” As a province, she was always kicked out of the meetings when she tried to sneak in with Ontario, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.

She beamed at his word of approval and stood up from her chair beside Matthew.

-“Well, Bonjour tout le monde, I suppose it’s time to begin. I am Marie Tremblay, as you heard I will be replacing France today. I am the personification of the Province du Québec, in Canada.” She added, designating her brother.

-“Ja, that’s gud,” Germany added before taking the lead to allow the meeting to begin.

Marie wrote down all that happened and the different subjects regarding France, commenting occasionally when the topic went toward Canada and his interests, who was getting ignored again. She even managed to make a place for him in the discussion, which hasn't happened since the Second World War, at least.

The meeting kept going, and Britain was getting bored. Without France to bicker with, the discussions were pretty straightforward, only having to tell Alfred to shut up occasionally.

His mind found itself wondering about the French Republic many times. Why wasn’t he here, what was the reason behind Québec’s replacing him today?

Last meeting,a week ago in Brussels, everything seemed normal, right? His economy still flourished, there was no way a war could have weakened him, so why wasn’t he able to present himself to a normal meeting.

He kept on thinking, last meeting, Francis hadn’t been more gloomy than usual, his mood, usual sunny personality and flirty remarks were still there. He kept on bickering and insulting back, but didn’t go any further.

Arthur gaze's slipped toward the window, where a light drizzle had begun, unusual for September in Paris..

Paris, France heart…

Nations had a little control over their weather, as long as it respected their climates, and Francis was definitely causing this weather. For example, London was dreary all the time, but it was partly because Arthur enjoyed the drumming of the rain on his window. Something really was wrong with him, Québec was right.

As he pondered all of this, the meeting pursued as usual, only to be interrupted by a yelp from La belle province.

-“Maudit! Y est déjà si tard! Scusé, faut que j’y aille, I need to give France his notes and to go back to la Délégation, I am going to be late, Céline is waiting for me.”

_Dammit, it’s already so late! Sorry, I need to go.._

She stood up from her chair, picking up her suitcase and the notebook, apologizing profusely in Québecois French and English as she did so.

-“Québec, leave the notebook, I’ll bring it back to France, hurry directly to the Délégation.” Arthur added, helping her out and finding a reason to go check up on Francis at the same time.

-“Merci Angleterre” she answered, visibly relieved by it. She never had a good relationship with England despite being one of his old colonies as well as France’s, so he was glad she allowed him to help her.

She slid it across the table and ran out of the room, almost hitting the wall as she turned the corner of the hallway like a hockey player hit the side of the rink.

The meeting continued for a bit without Marie’s presence and Arthur took more notes into the notebook, to make sure it was completed for Francis to consult once he’d reach him.

Her handwriting was so similar to France’s you could have been mistaken by it. She used to be called Nouvelle-France, and during her 486 years of existence she has been prouding herself on her culture and language, even among the British empire or Canadian federation.

She had inherited Francis' hair and eyes, as well as his light heartedness, his optimism and bloody pride. She also became very open and welcoming, her early population being _tricotée serrer_ (tightly knitted) as she put it. But she had taken her flamy personality from him, which could result in very creative swearing and a 2 year Revolution in the late 1830s . America wasn’t the only troublesome colony of his empire…

He closed the notebook once the reunion was over and started his walk toward France’s appartement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! I hope you will enjoy and don’t hesitate to leave a comment I’d love to interact with you all and to hear you’re criticism. Or the mistake you may find, I corrected but I may have missed a few.
> 
> Québec’s full human name is Marie Tremblay, Marie being a French and Catholic name, the religion being very important until the Quiet Revolution and Tremblay is the most common last name in the province


	3. A little fall of rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed two days ago that When She Loved Me from Toy Story 2 works very well with this chapter and fic, so I'm just writting it down here, do what you want with this info!

The day was well advanced, but the French Nation was still laying in bed, wearing a woollen cardigan and pyjamas pants. He had tried getting up to dress up but had found himself incapable of doing much else than to mope around and to pick up his cellphone from time to time.

Francis heard the small drumming of the rain against his window, a familiar little melody, and he could almost feel it dripping on his face.

Oh, those weren’t raindrops, he stupidly realized as the tears started to well again in his blue irises. He had tried to occupy his mind, to _forget_. He even ditched the meeting all together, mon doux. But it didn’t work. As it ever worked, really, he ponders.

When has his mind ever really been away from the thought of Arthur, from Angleterre and him.

Angleterre who had taken all hope away from him 7 days ago. He and Belgique were discussing right after the meeting. France knew eavesdropping on private conversation wasn’t good, but he couldn’t help but to listen when she mentioned the relationship between him and England.

-“So, are you two finally dating?” she had asked, and Francis smiled at this very common assumption about him and Arthur. How many times had waiters called Arthur his lover while taking their orders?

It's what followed that hit him harder than his defeat at the Maginot Line.

England laughed.

He never laughed before when Francis asked him out or flirted with him, only responding with denial and anger. It was their thing, Arthur being distant and denying the feeling France knew he had and Francis insisting, but now...

-“Belgium, me and France won’t ever be together. Do you really think me and the Frog could work out? I have no feeling for him whatsoever, this is ridiculous!”

England had never loved him, and he never would. The tiny hope that he could get the Englishman to confess flew by the window as he heard him continuing to tell Belgium about how they aren’t even friends, that he despises him and only stands him because his gouvernement asks him to.

There never were any feelings. England just said it. Had he imagined all that they went through together. All these moments together he thought had brought them closer weren’t even real.

He laid against the wall behind him and raised his hand above his mouth, stifling the sound his breathing was now making, starting to turn erratic. He couldn’t be seen in this state, no, not now or ever. He walked across the hallway, bidding a quick goodbye to the Nations still at the meeting.

He noticed how Alfred eyed him strangely as he hurried outside, not waiting for anyone to take the train or to stroll to the station.

To say that he ran away was an understatement. He not only physically ran as soon as he was out of sight, he ran away from the feeling of pain constricting his chest, the emotion trying to fly right out like the opening of a Champagne bottle.

He quickly reached the train station and as soon as he was in the wagon, he couldn’t hide it any longer. He had been hopelessly in love for decades, no, centuries, and all hope there was that his feeling could be requited, was lost, or had never even existed.

Francis found himself shaking uncontrollably in his seat, trying to stifle the sob who were growing in his throat. No, no he wouldn't cry over England, he was France, his mortal enemy and nothing more.

Nothing more,

Never anything more…

He broke in tears in his seat, the prideful and strong French Republic, weeping in a train from Brussel to Paris about a love story.

The Nation of love and Romance heartbroken.

He not only felt the heart wrenching pain,an overwhelming sadness, he felt the humiliation, shame from breaking down in the crowded train.

The last time he had cried publicly like that was after the Libération de Paris, in August 1944, but those tears were of happiness as he retrieved his freedom and he wasn't alone on La place de La Concorde crying of joy.

Across his memory, he sees Arthur’s face in the crowd on that fateful day of 1944. He hadn't seen him since the day he had to refuse to follow him in Dunkerque to stay with his people under the occupation.

The four longest years of his existence…

At the mere mirage of the englishmen in his memory, the tears start again, more quietly this time, but not without earning him a few side glances from the other passengers.

After the approximately 1h30 trip, he was in Paris again. He called his boss, who immediately understood something was wrong and started to ask if any of the overseas territories were in trouble and that he wasn't aware of it.

Francis quickly dismissed him, telling him it was some kind of personal problem, not related to the Nation. He ended up hanging up after reassuring his boss on the fact that he would do the tons of paperwork he had.

Flashforward a week later, he had done the paperwork in 2 days to try to forget about Arthur, spent the rest of the time between a bottle of wine and his room and had now sobered up and missed a world meeting.

-”Fantastique, absolument fantastique”, he sigh, wiping the tears out of his face

As he sat up in bed, he heard a knock on his front door. Québec must be back with the notes she took from the meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Btw just an observation but I always seem to write France with a sort of melancholy, a sadness that he seem to always have underneath, mostly in the latest seasons and in my own interpretation. Also I write angst a lot better than fluff, despite getting sad in the process too haha. It is also ironic how I write sad unrequited love story when I am literally dating the most wonderful person ever. Oh I am drifting of again, anyway, have a nice day/night


	4. Open Up

Arthur walked from the meeting’s building to Francis’ flat under the soft rain. He was used to the drops of water falling in his hair, and in typical English fashion, he didn’t have any umbrella.

The stroll to France’s house was nice, but he was starting to get worried for the other Nation, so he hurried the pace toward the apartment

He knocked on the blue painted door twice, expecting the frenchmen to come and to open it. Instead, he heard a muffled:

-“Entre, la porte est déverrouillée”

_Come in, the door is unlocked_

Seriously, what was wrong with him? Not coming to open up. Even is French hospitality was gone in smoke.

He pushed the door and entered the kitchen. The room who was the most alive in the entire house looked, well, grey. The curtains were shut and used dishes piling up on the side of the sink. Among those dishes were many, many wine glasses, accompanied by their bottles.

Arthur took a circular gaze toward the living room, who obviously haven't been living in recently and the dinning room, the table filled with neatly organized paperwork. Probably the only organized things on the first floor of the apartment.

England heard shuffling from upstairs, indicating that the French Nation was still in his room, in the middle of the afternoon. He heard a door open and decided to announce that he was the one doing the delivery, not Québec

-“Um, hello, Francis? It’s Arthur, Marie couldn't bring the notes from the meeting back, so I’ve got them.”

As he said those words, the footsteps completely stopped, and the door slammed shut again.

-“Francis!” The English Nation exclaimed before climbing the stairs as fast as he could

-“Are you alright?” he asked as he reached the door.

-“ Go away!” Francis yelled from the other side, his broken french accent emphasised by the tears he could hear in his voice.

-“ What is wrong? France let me help you..” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob, but as he tried to twist it, he felt that France had locked the door shut.

-“ As if you don’t know! This is your fault!” the Frenchman snapped from across the door, bursting into sobs again. The broken sounds reached England’s ears, making his heart ache. At the same time, he heard that France had let himself slide to the ground, sitting against the wooden panel that separated them.

-“You, Arthur Kirkland, have finally done it” France articulated painfully between two sobs.

\- “You and your heart of stone broke mine.”

He had done what now? France was constantly flirting with him, and he continuously repelled his attempts at seductions, it was like that between them, what was different from the usual?

Nothing, nothing except a conversation from a week ago, that Francis could have heard..

-“Francis, if you heard what I said to Belgium, it’s not what you..” He tried to explain himself, but got interrupted.

-“It’s too late for an excuse! Go away Arthur, and don't come back... ”

Francis had tried to order him to leave, but his voice had softened on the end of his sentence, making it sound like a plea. Despite wanting to cross the door no matter the cost and to comfort the crying Frenchman, his anger toward Francis stubbornness and their old habit of insulting each other took over.

-“Alright then, I’ll leave you and your stupid frog face alone, but you better now come back crawling on my doorstep with another calendar, Francis Bonnefoy!”

As soon as those words crossed his lips, Arthur regretted them, and wanted to rush in to apologize, to fix what was still fixable, to mend what he carelessly destroyed.

On his side of the door, anger took over France as well, hearing how England dared to insult him as he was at his lowest. He stood up and flung the door open.

As he saw Arthur’s face, his heart twisted, but his brain kept the anger growing at the sight of his “mortal enemy”. He grabbed the notebook from the meeting and his watery blue eyes stared in the moss green ones in front of him.

-“Get out of my house” was the only thing he articulated, in an almost calm voice, overflowing with contained anger.

Arthur witnessed the pitiful sight in front of him as Francis pulled the notebook out of his grip. Purple bags under teary eyes, greasy hairs and old pyjamas made the Nation in front of him look like a shadow of the man he used to be.

The last time he had looked like this was 76 years ago, when his land was just freed from the German occupation.

As soon as France held the notebook, the door was slammed in England’s face again. Standing in front of the closed door, England was frozen by the realization that hit him.

Arthur had broken Francis’ heart, and this part of him being so important, Francis himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is first posted on the 13 of July, so tomorrow is Bastille Day and France's birthday! Anyway, this is pretty sad and I wrote it while listening to Fall in Love, Mademoiselle on repeat. If you spot a mistake, or just wannna tell me what you think of this chapter, dont hesitate to comment or to leave a kudos, those motivate me very much! Next chapter should be up right now cause this one is too short in my opinion!


	5. Where are you?

Sun was now setting over La Ville Lumière, the few last rays of sun seeping in the curtain of Francis’ kitchen. Marie opened the door with one hand, carrying a grocery bag in her other hand.

-“Papa? I brought you some stuff for dinner, I thought we could catch up over some food, and you seem unwell so I had to check on you.”

At the lack of response, Québec grew worried

-“Papa? T’es tu là ?” The province asked again, hoping for a response.

_Dad, are you there?_

On the kitchen table laid a few envelopes filled with the usual national paperwork and the notebook from the meeting.

England had managed to bring it back here, perhaps he knew what was wrong with France not responding to her.

She opened it up and flipped the page, seeing the notes she took, then those Arthur added. But something was wrong, they were tear stained, little circular shapes pushing the ink away. Francis had cried over the notes Arthur wrote, after Arthur himself came to bring the book.

-“Papa? Répond c’est pas drôle.” She insisted before starting to look around the house for France.

_Dad? Answer, it's not funny._

After searching the apartment, she was forced to admit France was gone. Some of his drawers were half empty and still open. He had packed his bag and left, preparing all of his paperwork to be posted.

She tried to call him on his cellphone, but was instantly met with his voicemail.

France had never disappeared without letting other people know, that was a thing New-Brunswick and Nova Scotia did to sail undisturbed in the Atlantic, but not France.

Francis had ran away from his own house and Arthur was implied, that was all she knew. Oh Arthur was going to hear from her alright.

She composed the number of the English Nation, fuming with anger already. Francis was already down when he called her this morning, so whatever Arthur did probably didn't help him, quite the opposite.

-“What?” Arthur said as he picked up the other line

-“Qu'est ce que ta fais a mon père osti! France is nowhere to be found and unreachable, I sent you to bring a notebook to him because he was too sad and unable to come to the meeting and now he disappeared, what did you do!” She yelled at him, her Québec accent making her sound even angrier.

_What have you done to my dad, damnit!_

-“France disappeared?” Arthur realised he royally fuck up as he asked incredulously.

-“Oui, he packed his bag and left and his phone sent me to voicemail when I tried to call him, England what in hell did you do?” As she added those precision, the Englishman could hear the distress in Marie’s voice.

She had lost France once in 1763 and Arthur realised that she must feel the same way again as her father disappeared again.

-“It’s my fault he was in that state in the first place” he admitted, walking toward the door to grab his coat. ”And when I saw him this afternoon I really didn't help. I’m still in Paris, go to the meeting building and call the other Nations, we’re finding France and I’m fixing my mistakes.”

-“Ok, I’m on it. We better find him and you better make him feel better else you’ll get what has been coming for you since La Guerre de la Conquête from me.” She threatened half-heartedly.

Half an hour later, the Nations who were still in France or close to it were in the meeting room again, and Québec was pacing the floor as England finally arrived.

-“ You must be wondering why we are meeting unsuspectedly again today-” he began but got interrupted

-“Yeah, we are wondering” Alfred added, obviously annoyed

-“Ta yeule, États-Unis!” Québec responded to him, already aware of the situation.

_Shut up, United-States!_

-“We’re here cause France has left without any indication of where he was going or ways to reach him because we fought again while he was already hurt by me and I need to find him and properly apologies.”

England spurted out, effectively shutting up and surprising the whole room. Everyone stared at the Englishman, who had gotten quite flustered as he said those words.

-“France ran away?” Canada’s soft voice was the first to break the silence

-“Has anyone felt that he was in their country?” Matthew continued.

Nations could feel if another Nation was in their land, which was useful during wars, but could also be useful to find someone, in this case, France.

All of the neighboring nations of France nodded negatively, Italy, Belgium, Switzerland, Spain and Germany.

-“That means he is still in France” Italy quipped in.

-“That doesn’t narrow it down, he could be anywhere in his country!” England added, and the people present in the room couldn’t help but to hear the slight panic in his voice.

-“England, dude, are you alright?” America couldn't help but to ask, starting to get worried for his father figure.

-“No I am not! I was an imbecile and hurted him, I made him believe I could never love him back and now he is away from all of us and I don't know if that bloody wanker will ever come back, so I need to find him.”

As he spoke, tears started to well in his eyes, feeling buried like his pirate day treasure bubbling up to the surface.

As he mentioned the possibility of France potentially disappearing for an unspecified amount of time, Prussia and Spain looked at each other. Their best friend really was doing this bad and hadn't called them? They had to help England to fix things up.

-“I need to stop being in denial all the time, and I must get to Francis, will you help me?” He asked as he scanned the attendance of the impromptu meeting.

All of their gaze agreed with him. Arthur put himself together and stood in front of the assembly of Nations, mostly Europeans, but also America, Canada and Québec, still standing by her two brothers’ side.

-“ Alright then, let's put in common our knowledge, where could he be?” Arthur’s voice picked up in his old military tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you appreciate the way I characterized Québec. I see her as very kind, but also very emotional, hence her burst of anger toward England, someone she doesn't have the best of relationships with.
> 
> Important note! I didn’t know when to add it but yeah, important nonetheless
> 
> Regarding Québec: As a Quebec citizen, I don’t want the province to separate for Canada. I love being a quebecer and a Canadian both, the comment section is not a place for debates of divisions, please. We are in 2020 and we missed our chance twice. Besides now it would be impossible economically speaking. But I have to admit that Charle de Gaulle saying Vive le Québec libre is quite touching. In my characterization of APH Québec, she is now reconciled with Canada, but still insist a lot about her culture and language. Now enjoy! 
> 
> Dont hesistate to comment or to leave kudos!


	6. By the Channel, or Francis’ Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that headcannon Nations can teleport in their land? I am indulging and using it here.

One of the privileges a Nation had, as the personification of their country was the ability to move anywhere in their lands. This form of teleportation was coming in handy as Francis left his apartment in Paris to distance himself from England, from the memories and from the pain.

Yes, running away. People made fun of him for surrendering early and called him a coward after giving up so fast in World War 2, but now he had a good reason to be one.

If he hadn’t known the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland better, he would have stayed at home and his rival would come back to laugh at his pitiful state. 

He truly believed for an instant that he cared when he asked repeatedly what was wrong, but England took yet another hope of France and dragged it in the dirt.

He had packed his bags, filled with his warm clothings. He was going to a little house by the sea, after all, the cool wind of September coming from the water could get bone chilling. 

He called his boss, telling him to pass by his house and to grab the paper work he had finished, and revealing that the key was under the lily pot for him to lock the door after picking the envelopes from the kitchen table.

As he walked out of his house, he let himself look around Paris one last time. 

Paris, his heart.

The city seemed in a better state than his heart, but he didn't let himself become nostalgic, else he would regret leaving La Ville Lumière.

France closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was in his house of Pas-de-Calais. It was a little brick cottage,in an opening of the thick woods, built close to the beach but far enough from the tourists and the general population of the area.

The only few people who knew the property existed were France himself and England, who once spent the night after they inaugurated the Tunnel under the Chanel, or the Chunnel as England’s people called it. 

1994 was already so far away.

He left the bag of food in the kitchen and carried the one containing his clothing and bathroom product respectively in his room and in the bathroom. 

The whole house was dusty, but to be honest, dust was the thing that bothered him the most. He had chosen this place because he knew it would be the last place where anyone would search for him.

The reason? It’s his closest point to England.

They will look in St-Pierre-et-Miquelon before coming around here. It should leave him enough time to get over his sadness, right? It's what we’re supposed to do after the end of a relationship, grieve it and then move on?

He didn’t exactly know and he was not even mourning a relationship, he was mourning the lack of it and the fact that the person he had loved the most in the entire world didn’t love him and never would.

He opened the curtains and let the setting sun slip into his house. Rain had faded, but not the feelings in his chest. The faint watercolor like shades of the setting sun usually made him smile, but today, the golden glow left him just as morose. Perhaps it was going to be alright, someday.

In the meantime, he could walk barefoot in the cold water and dream of a world where the white cliffs of Dovers were less of an impenetrable wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: So much melancholy and purple prose in this, I hope you enjoy and will stick for the next chapter! Feel free to leave comments, i'll probably respond to every single one of them and kudos are appreciated.


	7. Let me find you

Arthur had stayed up all night with some other Nations to try to find France. Some had returned home, knowing to inform everyone if they found France, but Spain and Prussia had left to see if he was anywhere near their borders, while his ex-colonies remained with him to help Arthur out.

Québec had contacted PEI so that they could go check on St-Pierre-et-Miquelon, America had texted Guyana to see if he was in the department of French Guiana and Seychelle called the other Outer-Sea Territories to tell them to look for Mr. Francis Bonnefoy. 

Canada was leaning over the map of France they had found and helped England to rule out places that were too unlikely for him to be, such as urban centers and touristic attractions.

God, why did the sun didn't set on France’s extended territories now and not his empire? 

In the end, they came to the conclusion that Francis was still in Metropolitan France, which roughly means that they only had to look in his familiar pentagonal section of Europe.

Never in his awfully long life the island nation had worked so closely with anyone on something other than a war, and even though the situation was stressing him out, he found himself enjoying the presence of his and France’s former colonies. He also found it quite endearing that Marie and Alfred were planning on teaming up to go by car around the different departments. 

They had to find him, he had to tell France how he really felt. 

Since forever, England had been harbouring feeling for the blond, and he had kept on denying them at every possible occasion. The rivalry and animosity between their nations and respectives leaders had helped him greatly in doing so. 

Yet, he couldn’t help but to stare at the Frenchmen lean frame on the battlefield, in his defeats in Agincourt and Waterloo or in his victories in Orléan and in Amiens. 

Battered and bloody or standing in the midst of his victory, he was a sight to behold. With eyes like melted sapphires from England’s pirate days and hairs flowing around his sharp but delicate features. Arthur had sworn that France was one of the most beautiful things to exist.

He couldn’t help but to admire his wit and culture too, to get lost in their rare peaceful conversation about their past or future and to enjoy their bickering more than any man should be able to.

When they concluded the Entente Cordiale, Arthur was overjoyed that they wouldn't have to fight against each other anymore, and despite being in hell in the trenches, he was glad that he was there with Francis. Obviously, France never knew, he only saw the bitter and angry side of him, with a few rare smiles every five years or so. 

And yet France’s devotion never failed. He kept on making innuendos in meeting, flirting with him and infuriating him. The good thing was that flushed cheeks could be easily masked by anger, and that's what Arthur did, everytime.

He slipped into his role of “I hate France he’s my mortal enemy” so easily now that when Belgium asked about them, the awkward laughter of embarrassment, like a teenager whose crush had been exposed, that escaped his lips had been a thousand time easier to cover up than to face.

He wouldn’t have wanted to reveal his biggest secret to any random Nation passing around or to, no offense, Belgium of all people, but he would have never expected France to be listening. 

While he was trying to determine where France might be, it allowed him to actually think about his feelings for the Frenchmen for the first time. If he could find him quick enough, perhaps he could be able to repair what he had ruined, and maybe they could become something more, one day.

In the meantime, Alfred had dozed off on the meeting table, Seychelle was going to join him in sleep soon and Matthew was yawning like he had never seen him do before. Only Québec, sipping on her third cup of reheated Tim Horton coffee was still awake, and yet, barely.

-“We will have to call it a day” Arthur said. “Thank you very much for helping me, but everyone is too tired to keep going right now. You should go to your embassies to get some sleep, I’ll update you if I get news.” 

His proposition was well received and the three Nations and the Province headed out, leaving Arthur alone with their notes and the map of France.

As he stared at it for a moment, his eyes hovered over the zone where most of the fighting of the Great War took place. He watched over Vimy and traced the trenches pattern with his finger. He had stared at the battlefield on the map for so long, he had memorised a good part of it.

He then looked up to Dunkerque and his eyes followed the coastline to Calais. The closest point between their two countries, the place where the Tunnel had linked them together nearly 26 years ago. 

He remembered how getting a permanent link to another Nation had been, and how he and France had felt a warm shiver when the two sides of the Tunnel met for the first time.

He also remembered how they had spent the night over a wine bottle in a little house France owns by the beach. 

Maybe that was where he went...

No. This was too close to him, Francis could have never gone there..

Except that Francis was smart, incredibly smart, he would have known that this was how he would think. This was where he was. He had found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neither France or England are Dumbasses™ so here is Arthur outwitting Francis to find him. I thought it worked well for him to know Francis well enough to find him. Also the part about the sun setting went from the Spanish Empire to the British Empire to France's and his extended territories... How the turntables have turned... Anyway, hope you liked, pls comment or leave kudos as you deem fit, they give me serotonin.


	8. Le ciel bleu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is l’hymne à l’amour by Edith Piaf

_..Sur nous peut s’effondrer, et la terre peut bien bien s’écrouler.._

Edith Piaf sang her Hymne à l’amour on the old gramophone of Francis’ cottage. He had opened the windows wide and had let the sun and wind blow inside the living room.

He had taken the decision to put himself back together. And to begin, he would start by putting order in the things he had to get over, namely, his relationship with England.

The many photo albums he kept in this house were laying on the floor, the pages open and the picture spread on the carpet of the living room. Some dated as far back as the 1850’s while others were more recent and taken with Polaroids instead of the very old and big first cameras.

Since he enjoyed watching over them from time to time, they were organized by date and were easier to trace back to the occasion.

His gaze laid on a picture of Canada, taken on July 1rst, 1867. It was his official confederation, he was officially a Nation, well, Dominion, but no longer a colony.

On his right side was Ontario and New Brunswick, and on his left was Québec and Nova Scotia. The four provinces were just as beaming as Matthew on the sepia paper.

He then came across one of himself and his president in 1871. God, he looked so serious in this, not like the Canadians in the last photo..

The first picture starring both England and himself had been taken at the universal exposition of Paris. They were standing side by side on the Champ de Mars, in front of the Eiffel Tower. He was smirking, amused, while England was starting to pout, probably because of a joke about the 324 meters of his monument.

He remembered how he hated it when it was first built, but now he could imagine the Parisian skyline without it.

He smiled bitterly at the memory of how happy he had felt with England by his side and proceeded to set the picture on a pile aside from the rest. He hadn’t decided what he would do with them, but they would be out of his sight for a while.

The next pictures to join the pile were from the Entente Cordiale, in 1904. First an official one with their head of states, then one of the two of them discussing on a balcony with well started champagne glasses, and the last one had been taken without them knowing, while they began waltzing in the middle of the room.

The pictured had captured them halfway through laughter while England was leading them between the various invitees.

A teardrop fell on it and he hurriedly wiped it off, worried that the photography he would set aside would be destroyed.

Before getting overwhelmed by what he was trying to escape from once and for all, he placed the picture out of his sight and tried to work as fast as he could on retrieving the rest of the picture of England

England smoking right after the Great War was declared, him and Arthur after the signature of the Treaty of Versaille, Arthur during the Roaring 20’s, Arthur and him in London in 1938..

Then a 6 year gap from the Second World War.

The next picture was of a battered England and a bandaged France hugging. He could never forget how warm Arthur had felt finally with him after the liberation, how relieved he was that they were both still standing after all of these horrors, how…

He quickly placed it onto the pile and passed to the next.

He didn’t have many with Angleterre during the 50’s and the 60’s, mostly after his refusal of an union in 1956.

He then found many photos from the Expo 67. For the first time in ages, he was setting foot in Québec, accompanied by his president, Charle de Gaulle. They had been invited to come early to the whole event and the look on his eldest daughter’s face when they arrived was something he’d never forget.

The young province had organized everything for their visits, and Francis could almost swear she almost fainted when de Gaulle said : Vive le Québec, Libre!

Then he and hundreds of other Nations had added their part to the exposition. Matthew was also beaming in front of the gate with Alfred in another photograph he personally had taken.

Canada was celebrating 100 years of the Confederation and was once again smiling on the paper. He also found a group picture of the 10 provinces, 2 territories at the time and Canada in the middle. He also found one of himself in front of his pavillon who was now transformed into the Montreal Casino, with a famous French chef at the restaurant .

Michelle hadn’t had any pavilions at the exposition, but that didn’t stop her from joining as a civilian, so a few other pictures were of Marie and her eating cotton candy and of the North American sibling and her at the end of a roller coaster ride.

The next picture looked more like the one he was looking for to separate from the rest.

A half blurred photo of Arthur he had taken without him knowing, then one of Arthur and his pavillon, one of the two of them watching the fireworks, taken by Alfred behind their backs, and another he didn’t recognize. It was him and Arthur having dinner on a terrace, but he didn't remember placing it in the album.

They clearly were still in Montreal, and he remembered the night they had spent, but not that anyone could have photographed them. On the back was a slight scribble: _Wonderful Night with Francis, picture by Ontario, after I paid him._

The handwriting was clearly Arthur’s, but how could it have ended up in his album? Why did he ask Mark to photograph them? Could England have slipped it between the pages when they both came here to inaugurate the Tunnel?

And he had described the night as Wonderful…

Could he have felt something… France's heart dared to hope, only to be met with pain. As he held the photo in front of his eyes, his breath hitched and the blue irises started to fill with salty tears again.

No, he said he could never, he said it, he-

_...Que m’importe si tu m’aimes..._

Three sharp knocks on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

No way… it couldn’t possibly be...

_...Dieu réunit ceux qui s’aiment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I opened the wikipedia page for the Expos 67 at least 6 time writing this cause I kept closing it… 
> 
> I really need to say I hadn’t planned the song to work so well when i chose it for the background of this chapter, but it came full circle so perfectly, I had to mention it somehow, so here it is. 
> 
> Also this is inspired but the fact the photo albums of my family are by the computer where I’m writing, so yeah.
> 
> Feel free to comment or to ask questions or to leave kudos


	9. I found you

As soon as he could, Arthur took the train from Paris to Calais. At this moment, even if he had told the other to inform him if they had news from France, he couldn't be bothered to do the same.

He was absolutely nerve wracked in his seat, bloody train, why did it have to be so slow! And why was the 1h30 ride seeming so long.

As soon as he got out of the train, Arthur ran, he ran as fast as he could. There was no use into taking a cab, he was a Nation anyway, he had ran across No Man’s Land by this stupid frog’s side, he could run back to him.

When he reached the little stone pathway to the house, he slowed the pace until the door. The windows were open and music was coming out.

Edith Piaf, Francis’ all time favorite.

As he got closer, his heart started to beat faster again, but not from his run.

No, he realized he truly was afraid.

Afraid the house would be empty.

Afraid that he was too late to be forgiven, that the years of denial had served him right and took away from him the love he realized he perhaps didn’t deserve.

Or…

He couldn't let his imagination run wild again. He had to know, to be there at last.

He knocked three times on the door.

_...Dieu réunit ceux qui s’aiment_

Before anyone could come open the door, England twisted the handle and entered the house. The front door gave onto the living room, lit up by the midday sun.

On the carpet, memories were spread in front of his moss green eyes, parties, wars, peaces, dances…

And in the middle of it all was Francis, staring at him, gorgeous blue eyes full of tears, a single polaroid in his hand. England found himself unable to move at the sight, too many emotions flashing in his heart and head.

-“Arthur…” He breathed, the sight of the englishman standing in the doorway, the sun like a halo in his messy hairs feeling like a dream or an hallucination more than reality

-“Francis!” Arthur yelped as he unfroze from the doorframe. He quickly jumped above the piles of albums and pictures on the floor and engulfed France in a hug. He held him close, letting his hands into the Frenchman's golden curls.

Francis didn’t react at first, shocked and only feeling that Arthur was holding him tighter than ever, as if he needed to make sure he wasn’t going to slip away into smokes, but he raised his arms to reciprocate the hug. More tears flowed from his eyes as he realized what it meant.

Arthur was there, Arthur was holding him.

Arthur had looked for him. Arthur was… crying in his shoulder?

-“Arthur, are you alright?” He asked in a small voice, unable to catch the sight of the other Nation.

-“I am sorry.. Francis, I’m so sorry..” The Englishman replied, breaking their embrace to look at him in the eyes. France was scanning his face, still looking incredulous.

-“I, I shouldn’t have said those things, and I shouldn’t have been mad at you yesterday. France, please, forgive me. I was insensitive, and a bloody idiot and it was my fault, those things I said, back at the meeting, they weren't true, believe me, please..” Arthur said these words so quickly, stumbling over the syllables.

-“Angleterre, je te pardonne.” France simply answered, placing a hand on the smaller man’s cheek and wiping a few tears away with his thumb.

_England, I forgive you._

-“You, you do? Just like that? Francis it’s ok if you are angry with me, I was a horrible person to you for ages. I- I.” England began to stammer on this sentence.

He expected France to still be mad, to insult him so that they could go back to normal, to their constant bickering. He was instead met with a kind of softness he hadn’t seen from the frenchman toward him in ages.

-“Who made flower crowns with me, when we were nothing but children? Who gave absolutely everything to help me in two World Wars, who stood by my side for 116 years now? You did. And who found me today, Arthur?” Francis added, placing his other hand on Arthur’s other cheek, forcing him to face him, but also cupping his face with a gentleness England had forgotten

-“ I did “ he managed to articulate, he didn’t know how to continue, what to do now that he was sitting in front of Francis, so close…

-“ You were always there for me, isn’t it. Even when I forgot about it…” France added, reminding himself at the same time of all the things England did for him. They had had each other for so long, even despite their fall outs and conflicts.

Arthur took a deep breath before getting lost in the deep blue eyes in front of him and drew in closer, pressing his lips to Francis’. The frenchman, still cupping his cheeks pulled him even closer, deepening their kiss.

In this moment, they weren’t immortal Nations, they weren’t mortal enemies or rival, they weren’t even France and England. They simply were Francis and Arthur, finally in each other's arm, finally letting out hundreds of years of feelings, decades of denial and devotion.

When they broke apart, running out of the unecessarly air they had to breath, Francis broke the silence.

-“Je t’aime, Arthur.”

-“I love you too, Francis. ” he finally said, letting go of the secret he held since forever. The secret that had pushed Francis away and that now that it was freed, brought them together at last.

And they both kissed again, and again, and again, them who had been starving it for so long. In between kisses, sweet nothings were whispered, like little prayers for the two reunited lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the title, they are both hopeless romantics. Francis is hopelessly devoted and Arthur is hopelessly stubborn and in denial. But maybe a little chunk of hope was all that was needed… And the tension is resolved! 
> 
> But dont leave yet there is one more chapter and an epilogue coming! It should be a better epilogue than the one made by she-who-must-not-be-named so make sure to stick around, feel free to drop a comment or kudos!


	10. Picture Perfect

They were still on the living room carpet, sitting with their heads against the sofa. Arthur, exhausted by his sleepless night of research, had laid his head against Francis’ shoulder, finally close to his.. lover? Boyfriend? It did not matter, he loved him and that was all that counted.

Francis reached for the photograph from the _Wonderful Night_ , which had fallen from his hands when Arthur quite literally leaped at him to hug him.

-“Francis, what were you doing with the photos, before I came in?” He asked, seeing that France had picked one from the floor

-“Je, well, I was taking the ones of you away, I was trying to be less…” He sighed before continuing.

-“...sad.”

He ended by looking right at Arthur, who had lifted his head from his shoulder few second before to look at the picture Francis had grabbed

-“Ah, that one.” His cheeks flushed a light pink hue as he saw the dinner photo he had obtained through questionable means (paying his old colony to take it) and sneaked in between the pages for France to find.

-“Was it really a _Wonderful Night_ , mon chéri?” Francis playfully asked as he showed him the scribbled back of the polaroid.

-“It was, it was like our first actual date.” Arthur answered, trying to save himself from the embarrassment of the existence of this picture.

-“You should have told me it was a date, I would have dressed accordingly. Look at that, my shirt collar isn't even ironed!” He teased, shaking the picture in front of his partner’s face.

-“You prideful twat, it wouldn’t have been a surprise if I had told you that we were going out to eat that night! And it happened 50 years ago!”

Francis laughed at his sudden burst of “prideful twat” and proceeded to hug England again.

-“Oui, bien sûr, but I am YOUR prideful french twat, non?”

_Yes, of course,_

-“Yes you are, wanker…” He replied in a whisper, all anger absent from his classic insult.

When they broke apart, Arthur realized he had forgotten about something.

-“Bloody hell! I forgot to tell them I had found you, and that I left!” he exclaimed, standing up in a hurry and picking his phone out of his pocket.

-“Them who? Je ne comprends pas…” Francis asked, clearly left out on the situation

_I don’t understand..._

-“Matthew, Alfred, Michelle and Marie, they were helping me, and now they must be worried sick!” he looked at the small blue screen, who was now filled with messages and missed calls.

-“Oh bollocks” he pestered as he listened to one of the more recent voice messages.

On the line, many voices were mixed up. Arthur and Francis could hear Seychelle asking:

-“Why isn’t he picking up? He said he’d tell us if he had any news!”

-“I don’t know, Michelle, but I am sure he had a reason” Matthew tried to reassure her. Then, America’s loud voice interrupted:

-“Stop it you two, the message has started, you missed the tonality, Québ!”

-“Oui chut là. Arthur, I swear to god you better call us back soon, Alfred says you bought a phone so ancient he can’t even track you.”

_Yeah, hush now._

Marie was the one holding the phone and making the message, the two man recognized, and France's face lit up as he heard his daughter’s voice in the mayhem of his and Arthur’s ex-colonies.

-“Hey, I said the phone was as ancient as him!” he added, almost screaming in Québec’s ear.

-“As if that precision was necessary, Al.” She sighed before continuing to deliver the message.

-“Anyway, hurry up, Dad.” At that mention, Arthur almost dropped the phone, but the line didn’t cut immediately. Matthew’s voice was heard loud and clear in the silence that had fallen in between the colonies.

-“Did you just call him Dad?!” He exclaimed, and the three other siblings started to scream at Québec, words of congratulations, but she hung up before France and England could hear her own reaction.

-“She really said it…” Arthur breathed out.

-“It took 250 years and my disappearance for it to happen, but I am glad she finally did it, I know how much you wanted it to happen” Francis added.

Arthur had been a father figure to his colonies, but Marie had always denied it, proudly calling France “Papa” during public meetings but going with an ice cold “Angleterre” when it came to Arthur.

England coughed a bit to hide the sniffling that had taken over him again and turned to Francis.

-“How about we call them back, together, uhm? You are the reason they want news from me after all”

-“Bonne idée, mon chéri.” He answered and smiled as Arthur blushed again.

_Good idea, my darling_

Arthur pressed the call button and raised the cell phone up to his face. The camera was open and after two rings, Michelle’s face appeared on the small rectangle.

-“Arthur! You finally answered, where are you, and did you find him?” she quipped rapidly in her unique accent, not letting England the time to respond to any questions.

-“Michelle, please, can you get the other with you on the call?” He stopped her, shooting a rapid glance to France, a look that meant, “your entrance is coming, dear”.

Seychelles turned away from a moment and a few seconds later, America, Canada and Québec had made their way in the frame with the young island nation.

-“Dude, what’s up?” Alfred asked, and at this instant, Francis, slid over Arthur’s shoulder and made his way in the call.

-“Papa!” The three French speaking nations exclaimed at the same time, a smile the size of the continent illuminating their features.

-“France! My man!” America added as well, earning a laugh from the French nation.

-“Papa, t’étais où? On était inquiet! Vas-tu bien?” Marie cut up her brother, her loud and frenzy french surpassing Alfred’s obnoxiousness

_Dad, where were you? We were worried! Are you ok?_

-“Je vais bien, ne vous inquiétez pas, I am close to Calais, and your dad found me” He added with a smile toward England, and a wink to Québec.

_I’m alright, don’t worry_

Marie visibly whitened before answering.

-“Mon doux, il on vu le message...” she sighed behind Michelle’s shoulder, who started to snicker at her sister’s reaction

_My god they saw the message…_

-“OMG that means England is officially your Dad too, bro, well, sis! No take back with him, you know.” Alfred yelled again.

-“America, she already was our sister, and you know it.” Matthew responded in his quiet voice, and Seychelle proceeded to nod at her brother’s affirmation.

-“Yes, well, we will come back now, so wait for us in Paris, alright?” England cut the bickering of his ex-colonies, well, children.

-“Oui, we will be there soon.” Francis added, noticing how relieved the siblings looked on the screen

On the other line, the four young nations started to bid their “Goodbye” and “See you soon” and Arthur hung up after he and Francis repeated theirs a few time.

-“Thank you for finding me for them, mon amour. I haven’t thinked about how I was hurting them in my folly of running away.” Francis whispered, his eyes locked with the floor. He felt bad for causing everyone and his children distress with his stunt.

Arthur turned toward him as he pocketed his phone.

-“Francis, look at me. You were in pain, and it was my fault, so please, don’t feel bad about any of this. What’s important is that we’re here and we will be back for them”

The English Nation’s voice was warm and comforting, like a cup of Earl Grey and Francis knew he was right, it would be alright

-“You’re right, how about we go home now, as you just said?”

-“ Well, the next train is not coming for a moment, so how about we enjoy our time here for a little while more?” Arthur proposed with a Cheshire Cat grin, earning him a warm french kiss from his frenchmen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can all guess what happen next, haha! But imma leave it to imagination… aka Mydumbasscantwritesmuttosavemylife
> 
> FrUk is my OTP because of the old man in love trope, and in this, I was able to add old dads in love. Stay for a little more, a epilogue is coming in three sec, I’m posting them at the same time! Then the journey of this fic will be complete, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating and putting it into words. Feel free to validate me with kudos and comments!


	11. Épilogue: Home

_Three month later..._

The sun lit kitchen was filled with laughter and the smell of Christmas food. Heavy snowflakes were falling outside the window, and the house was buzzing in the early afternoon.

Francis was standing over the oven, checking the cooking of the traditional dinner and pushing his lover periodically away from the warm pots and pans, to avoid a fire. They already had the fireplace, there was no need to get more flame in the house

Alfred was trying to mix up the egg yolks and sugar for the eggnog and Matthew was outside with Michelle and most of the provinces, as they enjoyed the cold snow that was never seen on the southern island nation’s territory with a good old fashioned snowball fight.

Ditching the outdoor fun, Mark, better known as Ontario was sitting by the countertop and checking his cell phone messages for the billionth time since he arrived in Arthur’s winter house, which earned him a scolding look from his older sister, Marie, who was helping Francis with the meal.

Francis closed the oven again and walked up to Arthur, who was now staring at the wall of framed pictures. The ones Francis had set aside on that fateful day they reunited, now exposed for all to see instead of inside of the old albums.

But new photos had been added as well, including one of Arthur and Marie, with the younger woman hugging him almost violently, an instant captured on camera by Francis, one of all of the province and Matthew, one of America, Seychelle and Canada making grimace behind a posing France and one of Francis and himself embracing passionately.

-“You are thinking too loud, mon lapin.” Francis interrupted his quiet reflection while hugging him from behind and placing his chin on the slightly smaller man’s shoulder.

-“I was thinking about you and me, and the family. I can’t believe we’re all here for Christmas.” Arthur had been thinking about some other things, but those were not to be revealed now.

-“It’s perfect, isn’t it ?” Francis sighed contentedly. All of this was so blissfully domestic and sweet, a real Nation of Love dream. A dream Arthur would share gleefully every night and day of his endless life.

-“It is” Arthur simply added before turning to face and kiss softly Francis, his lover, his future fiancé by the end of the night too, hopefully.

The best present he could have imagined was laying in his left trouser pocket, along with a wrapped and _signed_ calendar waiting under the Christmas tree, an old thing between the two of them.

The sun was setting quickly on Christmas Eve, and Arthur realized he was simply happy.

Hopelessly in love, infinitely in love.

At home, at last.

**_La Fin…?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is the fluffiest fluff I’ve ever managed to write so be proud of me! Also Francis being only a few inches taller than Arthur makes me soft, even if in canon they are the same height. 
> 
> Also the second time I wrote a Christmas thing in July, I will never get in synch with the weather smh...
> 
> That is all folks! Every time I posted a chapter I found them way too short, but in the end I think it worked out, so it's alright.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the emotional rollercoaster ride I gave you all for free, and even if most people don’t read the notes, thank you for coming along with me in this ride. Feel free to comment one last time (I’m talking to you, the 3 people who commented under almost every chapter , thank you all again) and kudos are still greatly appreciated (yes I know we can’t give kudos twice, but it’s ok) 
> 
> Bye bye!


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